AMIRA
We decided against ordering the room service. Kyllen didn’t trust the food from the hotel. Instead, I had sifted through the stack of the paper menus we found in the dresser under the TV. I figured out how to use the hotel phone and ordered our dinner from a nearby restaurant.
I even called the reception desk and asked someone to pick up toothbrushes and other necessities from the gift shop for us.
While waiting for our food order to arrive, I had a quick shower, then brushed my teeth and hair.
When the food came, I felt a ping of pride. We were making it. Kyllen and I were able to provide for ourselves out here in this strange outside world that neither of us knew much about. Just that morning, we’d been a prisoner and a servant. And now, we were free, eating pasta and fruit salad from cardboard containers.
I had the pasta. Kyllen declared it too dry, opting for the fruit instead. In addition to the food, I’d also ordered an entire case of drinking water for him, and he’d made it through a few bottles already.
We ate, sitting on the couch. I folded my bare legs under me, hiding them under the hem of my sweatshirt. It was as long as a dress on me, and I hadn’t bothered putting on the pants after my shower.
Kyllen finished his fruit, opened a new bottle of water, then leaned against the sidearm of the couch. “Tell me more about the place where we’re going.”
He left his belts, boots, and the one remaining bracer back in the bathroom. Wearing only his pants, the long, tunic-like shirt untucked, and his hood, he was barefoot and looked relaxed and refreshed after his bath.
As he tilted his head to take a drink, the edge of his hood lay flat against his face, hiding the upper portion of it from me.
I chased the remaining few pieces of pasta in my container with a plastic fork. “Paris. It’s the capital city of France. According to Lero, there is a place called Parc des Brouillards, not far from the city. The portal is above the pond there. It only opens for twenty minutes early in the morning.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust Lero?” he asked. “Who is he?”
“He is a werewolf. Madame held him captive, very much like you.”
He blew out a breath, looking appalled. “She truly has no shame.”
“No, she does not,” I agreed. “I’m glad I got the chance to release Lero.”
“What if he lied about the portal? For you to set him free?”
I took a moment to consider that. What did I really know about Lero? Not much. My trust came from the heart rather than reason or logic.
“He seemed nice,” I said, fully aware of how naïve that sounded. “He gave me the address of his house in Paris and offered to take as much money as we needed from there.”
“So, he isn’t a stranger to this world? How long has he been here and how did Madame get her greedy hands on him?”
“I…I don’t know.” I really knew nothing about Lero, nothing at all. The last piece of pasta proved hard to swallow. It nearly stuck in my throat.
Kyllen put his bottle on the magazine table in front of us and leaned toward me. “Amira. What if it’s all a lie? Or worse, a trap?”
That was entirely possible. Only…I just didn’t feel like Lero would do something like that.
“I have no solid proof he was telling the truth, but I believe he was,” I said. “The bracks didn’t abduct him from Nerifir. He came to this world on his own, so he remembered the location of the portal. He speaks with a French accent, which means bracks weren’t the first people he met when he first arrived here. Every brack I know speaks English. And…” This was probably the silliest of my arguments, but it felt like an important one to me. “He has a woman he protects. That’s where he went when I let him go. To her.”
Kyllen rubbed his forehead through his hood. At least he didn’t laugh at my logic or at my trusting nature.
“Well, we have no other options. We may as well go to Paris and see if the werewolf told you the truth. If he was Ghata’s prisoner, chances are he’d be on our side, not on hers.” He took a drink from his bottle, then licked his lips. The tip of his tongue came into view. Two tips.
I stared, my hand with the fork frozen in the air.
“Can I see?”
“See what?” He sounded confused.
“Your tongue.”
Was my demand improper? Impolite? Probably. But curiosity got the best of me.
“You want me to stick my tongue out at you?” he asked flatly.
“Yes, please.”
He shook his head, obviously not impressed, but slipped his tongue out between his lips. It descended past his chin. A little longer than human’s, a little narrower, it was still very much the same pink color as mine. But the end of it was split, like the snake’s tongue. The two tapered tips moved independently.
“Wow.” I dropped my hand with the fork into my lap. Of everything physically different between us, the tongue seemed the most astonishing to me. Maybe because I actually got to see it, unlike his senties, for example.
He withdrew his tongue, hiding it behind his lips.
“I don’t think I’ve done that since I was a child,” he said disapprovingly, reaching for his water bottle again. “Sticking one’s tongue at people is exceptionally bad manners.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I assured him with a smile. “Here. I’ll show you mine if it makes you feel any better.”
I stuck my tongue out, wiggling its tip, though it didn’t feel nearly as agile compared to his.
He tipped his head back to see the lower part of my face and suddenly choked on his water, coughing. Shoving the bottle aside, he leaned in, catching my chin between his fingers.
I quickly withdrew my tongue and shut my mouth.
He slid his thumb along my bottom lip. “I can’t wait to find out everything that little tongue can do.”
His voice was rough and low, making his words sound illicit. I sensed he spoke of things that belonged to that mysterious world of sex I knew so little about. I had no idea what role a tongue played in it.
“What do you mean?” I asked, holding my breath.